HopkinsCinemAddicts

Happy Gialloween (Conor)

    Halloween is almost upon us, and in the spirit of the holiday I have decided to dedicate my next two posts to horror flicks. With that in mind, I will focus this particular post on Mario Bava’s best giallo, Blood and Black Lace (1964). Giallo is an interesting genre because it started in literature, not in film. Originally, the term “giallo”–the Italian word for yellow–referred to a running series of mystery and pulp novels printed with yellow covers all published by the same company. Eventually, giallo became a synonym for any mystery or thriller story and the loose genre of Italian films that adapted these stories eventually became known in America as giallo;  they are the original slashers. Masked killers stalk and murder numerous people, usually attractive women, and the plots revolve around police investigations and intrigue in a race against time to identify the killer. But giallo is so much more, and at best it falls into a kind of psychedelic noir.

    Bava’s Blood and Black Lace is one of the earliest, most influential, and perhaps the best of all the gialli. The film is moody, pulpy, and mysterious. Drawing from German expressionism, Blood and Black Lace uses elaborate lighting and mise-en-scène to convey character’s internal mental states, but with one major addition: vivid color. The film is full of bright, saturated colors paired with moody, deep shadows and brilliantly colored lights. It is not uncommon to see magenta, green, and blue lights all prominently featured in the same scene. One particular scene–a chase in an antiques warehouse–stands out for having multiple lights with different colors both flashing at the same time.

Blood and Black Lace is also extraordinary self aware: in the aforementioned warehouse scene the masked killer reaches out to turn the lights off while stalking his victim. A moment before he touches it he hesitates and backs off, implying that using the ridiculous lighting used during the actual chase was a conscious aesthetic choice on the part of the murderer. This self awareness is appropriate, as the killer’s near supernatural stalking prowess stems from cinematic tricks, such as restrictive framing. The killer seems to be aware that they are in a film and shamelessly exploits cinematic devices in order to terrorize his victims. In this way Blood and Black Lace is not just a giallo film but a film about giallo–and horror–itself and how it must fundamentally play with reality in order to create tension.

An overall feeling of decadence and superficiality permeates into the DNA of this film. Everything is intentionally skin deep. The models and their associates are, much like the mise–en-scène, all glitz and glam. They dress extravagantly in either black or very saturated color, and their encounters between each other are mostly sickeningly glib. The few glances we get of their inner lives paints a picture of seediness, corruption and moral bankruptcy. None of the victims are truly innocent in the eyes of the film, they are all guilty of egregious sins and at times it becomes hard not too root for the killer if they themselves were not also superficial and petty. Bava’s film comes across as intentionally and sharply skin-deep, a film made to be vacant and petty to mimic the pettiness inside the characters. Giallo doesn’t just flaunt its gaudiness, it revels in it and asks that the viewer does also. Blood and Black Lace demands that you engage with it on an immediately visual level; it is an orgy of color and shadow that commands the viewer’s attention across the film. The actual plot is pretty good too, especially for people searching for a film that can not only frighten but also enrapture. 

How to Be a Villain (Treva)

As a junior in the middle of my spring semester, I’ve had to start thinking about my life after college recently. My career path. And, as a junior in my spring semester, at Johns Hopkins, I am very overworked and desperate to avoid anything actually resembling adulthood. So my thoughts have been turning, inevitably, to one ideal career: Disney Villain.

But how? How to set myself up as the perfect Villain(ess)? Well, I am a junior at Johns Hopkins University, and a humanities major to boot, so in order to answer that question, I set out on a research quest. Mostly through video clips of signature villain songs, because those are the best part of being a specifically Disney villain.*

My exhaustive research has led be to two basic conclusions: the strength and impressiveness of a true Villain, and their song, is based on power and social deviancy.

Also, darkness. All the best Villains have dark clothing and dim lighting. But that’s such basic analysis that I feel it almost goes without saying. Lower chords in the music also help, and minor keys.

In support of my claim, I shall compare two famous musical scenes: “Bibbidi-Bobbiti-Boo” from Cinderella (1950), and “Poor Unfortunate Souls” from The Little Mermaid (1989). It’s an interesting comparison because they actually have a number of key points in common, including some notable Villainous qualities. In each, an older woman uses magic to manipulate the environment and transform a young woman—so, in fact, she can go meet and marry a prince.

The use or even just implication of supernatural forces is a hallmark of Villainy, falling under the category of social deviancy—this is the supernatural. It’s abnormal, and thus dangerous. In Little Mermaid, magic is actually a more neutral thing, used also—indeed, first!—by King Triton, an antagonist but not a villain. (Though he does use it for the purpose of destruction, of the human objects that approximately represent Ariel’s hopes, ambitions, and individuality.) Ultimately, however, he uses the same magic to give her the life she dreams of, on land with the humans. It’s much more common for Villains to either introduce or even be the only ones to call on the supernatural. Dr. Facilier, the villainous witch doctor, is the first to use magic in The Princess and the Frog (2009), explicitly evoked in his song “Friends on the Other Side.” In The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), a movie otherwise completely without magic or occult effects—save the living gargoyles who provide comic relief, and whom I for one have never thought fit tonally with the rest of the film—Bishop Frollo’s “Hellfire” is full of supernatural effects. Red hooded figures appear from nowhere to chorus and shame him, and his imagination summons a dancing image of the gypsy Esmeralda in the fireplace. The sound effects suggest that his hand motions are manipulating the flames.

As suggested, Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother actually follows the “only one affiliated with the supernatural” trope more than Ursula does. She not only uses magic, but she specifically affects the protagonist with it, spelling Cinderella into a dress and her mouse friends into horses and a footman. Such an overt exhibition of power and domination is reminiscent of when Ursula not only turns Ariel human but first gives the show of her abilities with the simulacrum: “This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl / and do I help them? Yes indeed.” Or when Scar (The Lion King, 1994) kicks the hyenas around in “Be Prepared”, or Dr. Facilier concludes his song by literally turning Prince Naveen into a frog. The power expressed in physically manipulating the environment and, better, the protagonist, is another key habit of true Villainy.

The Fairy Godmother, however, is not a Villain, or even an antagonist. Why? And not just as demonstrated in her motives, to help rather than hinder or entrap. How does the film, in animation and effects, express those motives?

For one thing, though they similarly use magic, the Gofmother conforms to society’s expectations in a way that Ursula does not. The Fairy Godmother resembles nothing so much as a kindly grandmother, while Ursula, though white-haired, acts the part of a sensual temptress. Her bright lipstick and eye-shadow pop out of her face, her tentacles are shaped like a low-bodiced, jet black evening gown—with attention drawn to the chest by a dangling gold locket—and she’s…on the plump side, debatably “fat” by model-standards of beauty, particularly relative to Ariel’s lithesome sixteen-year-old self. But she’s also curvaceous, and her body language—and that make-up—positively screams confidence and “look at me!” Remember the exaggerated undulation on, “And don’t underestimate the importance of body language!” Whereas the fairy godmother is covered head to toe in loose robes of pale blue and pink, including a hood and a large pink bow at her neck. She’s gently unfashionable, non-sexual, and the colors suggest calm and comfort. She’s even shorter than Cinderella: totally non-threatening. Ursula’s aggressive sexuality is startling to the point of scariness, particularly in an older woman who insists she’s being grandmotherly, helping “poor, unfortunate souls.” It’s arguably the “otherness” of it that makes her scary rather than the actual sexuality—she also has bruise-purple skin where all other mermaids are fairly pale, or at least human-colored, and octopus tentacles instead of a fish tale. It’s similar to how Scar is the only dark-furred lion (was Walt Disney racist? Well, probably) or Governor Radcliffe in Pocahontas is taller, broader, and more richly clothed than all the other settlers in Pocahontas (1995). Villains are those who don’t fit in.

Despite this deviancy—or perhaps because of it, and which of those options is scarier?—Ursula obviously has power. Supernatural power, and power expressed in blocking, and even in the tempo of the song. It’s fast. It’s aggressive. It actually picks up speed as the song goes on, and Ariel’s choice becomes more immediate. “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” has not only a slower tempo, but also significantly less range in its notes and energy in its delivery. Ursula belts notes low and high—though generally lower, menacingly. She moves around, often to literally above Ariel’s head—a simple indication of power by blocking. She draws the focus of the scene and demonstrates her sheer drive. A true Villainess isn’t afraid to commit real effort to her world domination plans. The Fairy Godmother stays on Cinderella’s ground level throughout her song, moving little more than to broadly wave her wand.

So what have I learned, if I want to pursue a career of Disney-style Villainy? Here are the big takeaways:

• Dark clothing
• Own my sexuality, particularly if I’m not expected to. Be unexpected, and confident in it!
• Move around. Speak loudly. Don’t necessarily pay attention to others’ implicit pleas for personal space.
• Try to acquire a unique talent.
• Above all, stand out and carpe diem!

…Or I could continue spending Friday and Saturday nights alone in my well-lit bedroom, wearing pajamas and watching Disney clips on YouTube. Yeah. I might do that. At least I have cool socks.

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* For reasons of copyright law, I can share neither screencaps nor links to where one might watch such clips. But I’ll admit that I, acting as a private citizen unaffiliated with JHU, have found several on the web. If you’re interested.

Once Upon a Time: Disney for the Ones Who Grew Up (Sophie)

I am not often a fan of giant media conglomerations, but for ABC's Once Upon a Time, I have to make an exception. The ABC network is owned by the Disney Corporation, and never has this relationship worked out better for the prime time viewer. The show was billed as a fantasy-drama based on classical fairy tales, but it takes much of it's core characters from Disney's animated features and borrows from them to an extent that would be difficult for anyone forced to navigate the "enchanted forest" that is Disney copyright law. The show is by no means made for children, and is often violent and heartbreaking. Still, it is mindful of the themes of the fairy tales (and is some cases Victorian children's stories or other story classics) it is based on. Family, the battle of good verses evil, and true love are not only paramount thematic issues, but actual forces of power, both magically and when enacted through character motivation. By keeping this fairy tale grounding, the show is free to morph the content and characters, enhance the nuance, and add complications, still while maintaining something that feels authentic at least to the versions of these stories we as viewers are most familiar with.

The result to anyone that grew up or raised children in the age of the Disney Renaissance (Late 1980's to 2000) is a show that seems like an updated, more mature version of these now classic animated films. Obviously, some things are different because of format - a television show demands a cast that is more interconnected and recurring than discrete films. It demands a new twist, a mystery or conflict that bridges the various individual stories and drives the characters, and thus the show, forward in a new way. The show accomplishes this in the form of a new curse put forward by the Evil Queen (from Snow White) to transport all the fairy tale characters to our world, oblivious to who they are, forced to live as she dictates: without their "happy endings." As the main narrative unfurls from this plot point, the show also reveals the actions of the past, in the realm of fairy tales. These stories, are focused on individual sets of characters and are paired up with relevant events in the forward flowing plot, so they are told out of order. Slowly, as the show progresses, the past gets woven together and drops hints as to the events of the future.

In this, the show succeeds wonderfully. The balance between hints that pay off and misdirections, for those readers bouncing theories around in their head, is very satisfying. The show never feels like it is fooling with you just for the sake of convolution, nor does it come off as predictable and boring. Similarly, the show doesn't become a detective puzzle that forces the viewer into hunting for clues, for those viewers who are content in letting the mysteries unfold without trying to guess which well known character might show up and what role they might play, or what betrayal or alliance might come to light next. The overall plotting, and the way the various fantasy stories interweave is done elegantly.

Unfortunately, the writing that is so stellar at the drawing board doesn't always translate into the dialogue. Some of the scenes fall into saccharine or maudlin sentiments, often at the same time sounding like generic and stilted dialogue for a scene of tension, revenge, passion, or some other standard story book fare. During scenes that take place in the fairy tale realm, the writers operate under the added complication of trying to use a kind of folktale mode of speaking. Fortunately, as season 2 progresses the kinks seem to be smoothing out.
 
Part of this fault may lie with the actors as well, especially because TV drama is a medium where the writer of each episode varies and the problems in the writing are much more apparent consistently in some characters than others. In television, the actor becomes more of a constant for the character than the writer, and they become vital in bringing the lines to life. In Once Upon a Time, it's the villains (primarily the Evil Queen Regina, played by Lana Parrilla, and Rumpelstiltskin, played by Robert Carlyle) that outshine their cast-mates.

But they have help from a story that does work hard to challenge the classical fairy tale ideas of evil, while maintaining that true good and true evil exist. It isn't moral ambiguity so much as a deep, pervading sense of sympathy. The show does not hesitate in illustrating true evil and then showing its tragic, sympathetic motivation. This is one way that Once Upon a Time updates its source material for an older audience. As adults, the flat evil-for-evil's sake villains that dominate the Disney canon don't pass for believable characters.

Another update of note the show made is to the roles and ideals of gender. Snow White is turned from the 1937 house-wife princess in distress to a survivalist-princess on the lam who rescues her prince as much as he rescues her. But it isn't just about de-feminizing her role. Snow, in her updated fairy-tale life and in her modern world is powerful as a mother, a lover, and a teacher as well as being one of the most capable fighters on the show. The core cast of Once Upon a Time is, in any given arc, at least half female, and though romance (what with the theme of true love) definitely plays a part in the show, it is far from the only driving motivation.

Briefly, no account of the show is complete without a comment on the aesthetic. As costume designer Eduardo Castro said “We didn’t want it to look like a Renaissance Faire, we wanted it to look like an Alexander McQueen show.” The costumes and styles, aside from certainly being grown up, provide insight into character, future plot points, and clues to morality and timeline. Above all else, they are exquisite.

For anyone familiar with Disney's Masterpiece Collection, Once Upon a Time is a wonderful chance to relive and re-meet childhood classics in a new, more age appropriate way. Even for those who haven't, it's a great way to get to know classic characters in an exciting, innovative way.

A Vintage Obsession: Fashion in Period Pictures (Lauren)

We might love seeing real personal experiences on the screen, but we welcome the ability to escape into movie worlds with tremendous appreciation. Watching a movie, we are transported out of our seat, away from our problems, into some intangible, unfamiliar place. Here, we see what we want to see, feel what we want to feel, and do what we want to do which is not possible in the realm of reality. Afterwards, we leave the theater – back into the real world – with our imaginations strong and healthy. We’ve talked about how people love an intimate look into worlds of luxury, valor, vacation, and downright eclectic, but there is one realm that moviegoers love even more: the past.

We have a natural love of nostalgia – reliving good memories, regretting bad ones, running our minds over and over could’ve-should’ve-would’ves. We love to ponder where we came from, what we’ve learned, and who we would’ve been if any number of things had gone a different way. Plotting the history of human experience (especially those events and eras we couldn’t witness ourselves) is a major part of the film industry. Period pictures aren’t every movie fan’s favorite genre, but the money and energy invested in each proves just how important it is to create convincing mise-en-scene.

Aside from lending to the magic of the time-machine effect, costumes can make or break a period picture’s authenticity. No matter what time period the film is attempting to capture, audiences want to feel the time warp in all ways, especially in the film’s fashion point-of-view: we see period pictures because we want to leave our seats in the theater and arrive in another year, another place, another time. Every detail – accurate dialogue, landmarks, events, or even hairstyles – gives us a clearer picture of what life would’ve been like had we been there too. Without clothes to imagine wearing, it would be near impossible for us to place ourselves in this strange, foregone world.

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We might think of the past as a ‘simpler’ time, but the I, Claudius (1976) series (adapted for television) shows ancient times were anything but simple. Chronicling the key historical events in the Roman Empire between 44 BC and 41AD, the 13 episodes actually suggest not all that much has changed in society since then. Love, aspirations, and betrayal were still life-controlling; family bonds and political responsibilities were still paramount. The largest reminder that we are watching a portrayal of events that happened several millennia ago? The characters’ appearance, largely affected by the clothes on their backs. Arguably, the costumes in the serial are not overly crafted or complex: flowing fabric creates toga-like dresses and drapes, what we think of as typical for the era. Still, the lines between social classes are clear. Laurel crowns, white and bold colored togas, and brown leather military chest plates differentiate the rich from the slaves who serve them. We are invited into the world of the Roman aristocrat, outfitted in costume to constantly remind us we are watching a period picture about an epic era of world history.

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Rob Reiner’s storytale classic The Princess Bride (1987) is the perfect example of our love for period pictures. Bouncing back and forth from contemporary 1987 to Medieval farm/royal culture, the movie’s timeline recreates the experience of seeing a quality period movie in the first place. We, like Fred Savage’s character, are a bit skeptical of a story about the past, we persevere to hear more with a slightly wary ear, and we end up relating to the story enough to be consumed by it. The best part about this particular film is that the action is being read from the pages of a book – therefore, the costumes we see on screen are actually ‘created’ by the boy’s imagination. We believe the costumes because they are what we think they should be in our own minds: long dresses for the princess, tights and puffy sleeves for male royalty, mysterious black for the hero. It may not be entirely historically accurate, but it suits our idea of medieval times – and that is what allows an audience to whole-heartedly follow a story to its happily-ever-after.

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Les Enfants du Paradis, directed by Marcel Carne, follows a French courtesan  through her interactions with four men who fall in love her. One of the many elements that makes Children of Paradise unique is its setting: though released in 1945, the story takes place in Paris from the 1820’s through the 1830’s. Garance’s four lovers include an aspiring actor named Frédérick, a criminal named Lacenaire, a pantomime named Baptiste and Édouard de Montray, a rich Count. Set in the world of 19^th century Parisian theatre, the film has an extravagant, romantic flavor from the start. Each character has his/her own particular style (related to his/her profession, social class, and role in the story) that helps pull the reader even deeper into the era – a welcome escape from the realities of the 1940’s, which included the Nazi occupation of France. The Count’s tall top hats and Baptiste’s oversized stage outfits take us to a dramatic fantasy world where even the most heart-wrenching tragedy becomes poetic. Even Garance is dressed in puffed sleeves, sweeping skirts, and exquisite accessories: she enjoys luxury, so she allows the audience to enjoy it for several hours as well. And now, with World War II nearly 70 years behind us, audiences consider Children of Paradise to be one of the best films ever made, showing just how this look into Paris’ romantic past transcends time as well.

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As the market grew for period pictures profiling the years of the 20^th century, it became even harder to define these short bursts of culture-changing trends. The most current period pictures are full of a diversity that parallels our recent colorful history as a culture. Take, for example, the following three films. Though they all take place within less than 20 years of each other, Shutter Island’s (2010) eerily simple neutrals straight out of 1954, the skinny ties and slick hair that characterized a 1960’s pop band in That Thing You Do! (1996), and the wispy shirts and relaxed hippie denim of 70’s-based Almost Famous (2000) could not paint a more different picture of modern American life.

Now, movie-goers have so many options for how they experience life in the past. There are exponentially more worlds for them to enter and explore, all made to be more accessible than ever with the costume designer’s ability to style them perfectly and uniquely. Though there is a true respect for accurately depicting reality in present-day pictures, movie audiences have certainly not lost their desire for decadence and escape into the past.

Losing Ourselves in Film Fashion: All About Escape (Lauren)

Film is a biography – an autobiography, even – of a society. It is a window into the soul of a movie-watching culture. It freezes in time the morals, values, interests, aesthetics, abnormalities of a culture.

What I’m going to say here, however, is going to completely contradict my answer to the question, Why do we love film and fashion? Sure, even the most surreal film contains the truth, the sincere raw intensity of the human experience. Even the most incoherent, avant-garde fashion show reflects human emotion, human eyes, human reactions. Film, even since it became a publically accessible thing, is us. There’s no way around it – by making movies at all, we leave a little bit of ourselves – our goals, our fears, our thoughts – behind in them. That’s why we love them. Fashion is the same. We love knowing there is a way to explain ourselves. We love knowing we aren’t the only ones who feel this or wonder that. We love discovering new things about ourselves and we love trying new things courtesy of others, trying them on for size.

And yet, one of the other most sincere reasons for why we love movies and fashion seems quite the opposite. The two mediums also share our ambitions, those things we yearn for most deeply but aren’t manifested in everyday life. There’s a wickedly complex veil over the worlds of film and fashion, as if they are inaccessible to the everyday man or woman. But it couldn’t be more personal. What we see on the screen is, often, what we wish to wear but can’t. It is a reflection of our desires. Sometimes, we don’t want to sit in a dark theater and  see something out of our everyday lives: we want to escape, to see something foreign that was once only possible in our imaginations. The point is not that the plot feels possible, just that we believe, in this other universe, the chain of events on screen makes some sense. And without unique fashion to emphasize a crazy plot, movie goers may not buy it at all.

Just imagine any of the following movies with people wearing modern clothes. Rose DeWitt, sitting in first class wearing jeans? The Harry Potter kids, casting spells in Forever 21? Even surrounded by the appropriate sets and props, these movies wouldn’t seem quite so magical or quite so exotic without fashion following suit. Fashion has the ability to make the audience feel the full effects of a whole host of escapism moods. Without it, movies steeped in luxury, location, valor, surreal, and the truly fantastic would just fall flat.

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LUXURY: DANGEROUS LIAISONS (1988)

This remake of the 18th century-based drama, starring Glenn Close and John Malkovich, won an Oscar for its extreme costume design. The task certainly must have seemed daunting: French Revolution-wear (think: modesty, lots and lots and lots of fabric) that could allow seduction and delicious betrayal to shine through? Costume designer James Acheson’s trick was not to show skin to achieve the presence of sex; instead, the characters’ addiction to indulgence was emphasized by yards of luxurious material in rich colors like pumpkin, lemon yellow, and clean stark white. Audience members most likely would never have a chance to dress this way, but the richness of the whole environment makes high-class debauchery accessible to all (if only for a couple hours). A romantic story of love, schemes and epic drama would only be complete with extravagant clothing in tow.

LOCATION: THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY (1999)

Italian faux-vacation hotspot Mongibello is the location of this psychological thriller that transports its stars (Damon, Paltrow, and Law to name a few)  back to 1950’s Italy. The world around them is beautiful as Tom Ripley works his ‘ugly’ magic, conniving his way into his targets’ lives. Marge’s long wide skirts and effortlessly tied button-downs at the start of the film are the epitome of resort fashion of the day – they look expensive and cause the audience to subconsciously crave her blueblood, warm weather traveler aura. Tom and Dickie’s characters physically manifest their differences with two distinct styles of their own. (Crisp collared button downs, tight swim shorts and thick rimmed glasses were just some of the items in the costume closet.) Dickie’s background – including a degree from Princeton and grooming to take over the profitable family business – is there in every thread of his clothes, a silent but ever-present reminder that Ripley (nor the audience member) will never attain exactly what he wants: to be Dickie, style and all.

VALOR: THE LONGEST DAY (1962)

The star-power behind this war film might be distracting if it appeared in any other movie: it features Henry Fonda, Robert Mitchum, John Wayne, Richard Burton, Sean Connery, George Segal…I could go on. But dressing all the men in their nation’s uniform, whether it be the United States, Britain, France or Germany, works to make them equals forced to live D-Day together as their ancestors did 20 years before. Especially in war movies, there is no choice but to dress the characters in anything but completely accurate military garb. When memories of combat, war terror, and lost loved ones are on the line, anything less would be disrespectful. When these memories don’t exist in the minds of audience members at all (those people who have never experienced war first-hand), accuracy is even more important. It brings the highlights of war to us and, while we can never experience pain or fatigue to the level of a serviceman, we feel exactly as we wish to feel when we begin to watch: as if we are there in the trenches, experiencing courage, strength, danger and loss with these heroic men.

THE SURREAL: A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971)

Though I admit I don’t have much experience in this department, I’m fairly certain that you don’t normally get roughed up on a dark street by a crew of men in white overalls and bowler hats. Milena Canonero’s cartoonish costumes in the midst of Kubrick’s sinister violence play with the audience’s psychological state in the way that Alex’s mind is plucked and prodded by the story itself. Dark maniacal crimes paired with patent leather skinny pants make Alex and his crew more than just a group of hooligans committing nightmarish acts: they are entertaining in their suspenders, tempting the movie-goer to be seduced by such rich and visually-appealing images. It is terrifying to think, even for a moment, that you actually like what is on screen, but that is what Kubrick mastered as a director. Beautiful horror, stylized crime, indulgent ideas of a dystopian future – it is nothing we could ever see and, more importantly, appreciate in real life. Such surreal anti-pairs certainly satisfy us as a movie-watching, escape-driven public.

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Fashion has long been more than a way to cover ourselves from dirt and indecency, just as film has forever been more than just images on a screen. Together, they are able to create worlds that stretch and satisfy even the most creative, most extreme imaginations, giving movie goers a way to live outside their means, outside their norms, and outside their wildest dreams.

 

The Essential Women of Film Fashion (Lauren)

Why do we love film? Obviously, that’s a big question – huge – and certainly too big to tackle here.  But let me try: in so many words, we love film because we love any reminder of what it means to live the human experience. And a lot goes into a film to earn our trust on that. Whether or not the plot is plausible in any way, we crave that feeling of knowing we’re in good hands – that something about what we’re seeing is authentic and genuine. Sets, locations, props, lighting – they all contribute to our ability to imagine ourselves within the context of that movie. But arguably the most important, at least to me, is fashion.

Now, why do we love fashion? Still a tough, slippery question to try to answer. But I believe we love it because it’s the best, most direct way of telling the world who we are. Life choices, social standing, our level of creativity, our goals in life, our human experiences thus far and the way we see the world, the way we hope for the extraordinary. You can’t possibly tell a person all of these things in your first conversation with them. You can, however, wear clothes that show them all.

As a film audience, we automatically get a sense of a character from the clothes on her back. (For the sake of space, I’m being sexist and dealing with women’s wear; the same can be said for men too, though.) Once fashion becomes important to you, it becomes a part of the way you see the world. And once a character from a film becomes a style icon, history has shown that culture will never be the same.

It may not say great things for the fashion industry’s ability to push forth in fresh directions, but it is a comforting fact to know that, every season, I will open a fashion magazine and see many of the same film icons referenced as inspiration. The people that, without fail, continue to be the source of inspiration for trendy new runway shows. The pieces that say something, that suit certain classic personalities. The effortless looks that are the cleanest ways to tell the world who we are.

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Katharine Hepburn, Sylvia Scarlett (1935) / You are: A spunky, determined, perhaps career-driven woman who likes men…but sure doesn’t need them.

Four days out of seven, I wear pants. (That’s an actual statistic.) I wonder if that would be true without Katharine Hepburn. Sylvia Scarlett may not be the most popular of her films (or quite frankly, the best), but pants appearing on screen – on the legs of a woman – would change fashion, film, and the American woman forever. But she did more than simply wear pants: somehow, Katharine had the magic to turn wide-legged, high-waisted trousers into the boldest statement of female independence. We take for granted the jeans and slacks hanging in our closets. Without her undeniable sense of self, I wonder how long it would’ve taken for them to reach us.

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Jean Seberg, Breathless (1959) / You are: A tomboy or a Francophile. Or both.

 

 Somehow, I made it through 19 years without ever having seen this Godard masterpiece. Luckily, the rest of the world was not so slow: at least twice a year, I open an issue of Vogue, Elle or Vanity Fair only to see a black and white photograph of Jean’s sweet-yet-sly smirk surrounded by cut-outs of fedora hats, striped boat-neck shirts, skinny black pants and little cinch purses to help readers “get the look.” Breathless put a charming, doe-eyed American on the map as a model for Parisian style – and we have looked to her to mimic it ever since.

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Brigitte Bardot, And God Created Woman (1956) / You are: A feminine, vivacious woman who may or may not be used to men falling at her feet.

Pouty lips, check. Wavy hair, check. Hourglass shape, check plus. Whether she appeared on screen in underwear, sheer shirt dresses or... well, nothing at all, Brigitte set a new standard for what it means to be a sexy woman. In life and film, she dressed her bombshell personality with cinched waists, corseted bodices, full skirts and dark liquid eyeliner. Brigitte Bardot opened a door for women, showing that a sexualized image could actually be empowering – not demeaning. This was an idea that would endure not only through the next decade, but as a timeless template for seductive style.

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Uma Therman, Pulp Fiction (1994) / You are: Mysterious and tough as nails, period.

 

Yes, I’m going there. Fashion might not have been the first thing on your mind while watching Quentin Tarantino’s crowning achievement, but women left the theatres ready to bring touches of Mia Wallace into their everyday. Think black: midnight nail polish, inky blunt bobs, and sharp dark stilettos exploded with Pulp Fiction. More importantly, women tend to look to these accessories for the quickest way to an edgy, darker style even today. We’ll pass on the needle through the heart, though – no need to be that edgy. 

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I know I’m committing a blogging crime by leaving another pretty Hepburn off this list (the little black dress is incredibly iconic and one of my favorite films of all time, Funny Face, is so fabulously rooted in fashion that I felt I couldn’t do them justice), but the truth is that there are still so many more. The newbies – Zooey Deschanel, Anne Hathaway, Sienna Miller, Sarah Jessica Parker, Kirsten Dunst. The classics – Lauren Bacall, Catherine Deneuve, Grace Kelly, Greta Garbo, Diane Keaton. They are archetypes of the facets of female style that don’t grow stale: the girly girl, the sophisticate, the tomboy, the low-maintenance, the eclectic. It’s no secret that women are complex, if not slightly confusing, creatures…but these style icons complete us. I venture to say that is why their faces smile up at us from glossy pages on a regular basis. And with these staples already in our closets, we’ll walk confident, knowing we’re already one timeless step ahead.

Well La-Di-Da (Clare)

[For my post, I’m operating under the assumption that you’ve already seen Woody Allen’s Annie Hall and Manhattan. If not, besides watching them immediately for your personal well being, check the links or trust my movie-in-a-sentence: Annie Hall non-linearly follows the relationship of neurotic New York comedian Alvy Singer (Woody Allen, essentially playing himself) and young, aspiring singer/actress straight from the heartland, Annie Hall (Diane Keaton). Manhattan is Woody’s love story to his city and follows the interconnecting relationships of Isaac (Woody Allen again playing himself), Mary (Dianne Keaton again as Annie Hall if she’d been an elite academic), Yale (Michael Murphy as Isaac’s best friend), and Tracy (Mariel Hemingway as Isaac’s 17 year old lover).]

 

 

Woody's favorite shot of New York City from the Brooklyn Bridge, which he uses in both Annie Hall and Manhattan.

Woody Allen is many things: director, screenwriter, comedian, actor, playwright, and even, clarinetist. Fashion influence is probably not one of the first things that comes to mind, but Woody Allen’s films have had a significant impact on the fashion world and popular style in general, especially in Annie Hall and Manhattan.  His revolutionary use of menswear in his female characters’ wardrobes provides insight into their roles in the film, and on a larger scale altered the concept of what defines womenswear.

“I love what you’re wearing,” Alvy tells Annie as they stand in front of her Manhattan apartment. Dressed in khaki pants, an untucked white oxford button down with an oversized tie under a black buttoned vest, topped with a black hat tilted back just a bit, Annie is the definition of womens’ menswear. It’s the first time they’ve met and even before their relationship has really begun, their outfits already provide clues as to their roles within the romance. Compared to Alvy, (dressed in a monotone all white outfit offset of by thick rimmed glasses) Annie already appears to be wearing the pants in the relationship (bad pun, I know), and as the film progresses we see how true this really is.

Before going further into Annie’s wardrobe and the meanings behind her clothes, it’s important to know how her style came about. Woody can’t take complete credit for Annie’s fantastic fashion sense-the back-story is Diane Keaton (who really is Annie Hall;  Annie is her nickname, and Hall is her given last name) came to set in button downs and vests and blazers, and with a little help from costume designer Ruth Morley and Mr. Ralph Lauren, Diane’s style became Annie’s as well. 

As we see the two of them grow closer in the film, it’s interesting to note how their wardrobes and outfits seem to become more and more similar as well. Alvy’s everyday uniform consists of flannel or plaid shirts with slacks or jeans plus his ubiquitous thick-rimmed glasses (a look that makes him a modern day hipster too, but I digress) is later expanded to include jackets and blazers, Annie’s favorite outerwear. Conversely, flannel and glasses seems to infiltrate Annie’s outfits later as well, subtly showing the relationship the two share.

This combination of styles comes to a point fairly early on in the film when they are falling in love at a bookstore. Alvy wears a plaid shirt of various browns, belted and tucked into khaki pants, topped off with a tweed jacket and his signature glasses, while Annie wears a blue and white plaid shirt belted and tucked into green slacks, topped off with a black blazer and tortoiseshell thick rimmed glasses.  The similarities between the two are all too obvious, and of course dressing like bookends in a bookstore is admittedly funny. But on a more involved level the fact that they are dressed so alike at this point gives us insight to their feelings for one another, while additionally hinting at the powerful effect they have over one another.

There are too many vests, plaid button downs, and ties for me to possibly recount, but I will mention the final scene of the film, which proves how menswear truly does underscore Annie and Alvy’s relationship. Alvy and Annie run into each other after they’ve broken up at the movies and get coffee afterwards, and we see them through the coffee shop window: Alvy’s in khaki pants, an olive green button down and that same tweed jacket from the bookshop, and Annie’s in jeans with the legs rolled up and a flannel shirt.  Each of them have stolen an element from the other’s style (Alvy the jacket, Annie the flannel) to keep as their own, an implied sign of the effect they’ve had over each other during their relationship.

Menswear for the women in Manhattan plays nearly as central a role as in Annie Hall, yet examining its use still highlights prominent aspects of their relationships. Most importantly, it underscores the relation between Mary and Tracy:  as the two leading ladies there are numerous parallels to draw between them, and a more salient one is the use of men’s clothing in their outfits. The first time Mary, Tracy, and Isaac all meet is actually when their clothes make the most impact. Isaac and Tracy run into Yale and Mary at a gallery:  Tracy wears an untucked light men’s button down (remember, Manhattan is black and white, meaning colors aren’t nearly as important besides warm and cool) with a black sweater draped over her shoulders. Mary wears a white men’s button down as well, but hers is tucked in and topped with a black blazer. Sartorially, Tracy’s outfit is essentially a less mature version of Mary’s, showing her youth as well as Mary’s dominance between the two. Throughout the film Mary is more dominantly seen in menswear pieces (especially that black blazer, and she even wears a white one over a dress to a black tie event), while schoolgirl Tracy stays in sweaters.

As in Annie Hall, it’s the final scene in Manhattan where menswear again demonstrates character change and maturity. Isaac runs to catch Tracy before she leaves for London, and we see her standing in the lobby of her building wearing an oversized blazer and an almost floor length skirt. Tracy has “manned up” in real life by attempting to get over Isaac as well as deciding to go to London, and her more prominent integration of the blazer is visual proof of this. Of course, she still keeps her girlish youth with the skirt, but the blazer is an undeniable sign of her maturity.

Today it’s obviously no revelation for women to wear clothes found in any man’s closet, but back in the late 70’s, Annie’s button downs and blazers were revolutionary for women’s fashion. After Annie Hall came out, the look of menswear for women crossed over into popular culture as well. Just like Annie, women didn’t simply take certain pieces of menswear and integrate them into their wardrobes:  instead, they wore it all, creating an androgynous look that spread from stealing items from boyfriend’s closets all the way to couture designers creating menswear looks specifically for women.

 

There’s another revival of Annie Hall and Manhattan style today, spreading even farther than just menswear pieces to include flannel fabric and plaid designs as well. Boyfriend blazers, flannel button downs, vests, and thick rimmed glasses can be found everywhere from the runway to the suburban mall, and have become the definition of modern indie style today.  It’s a sign of the power film can have when something on screen takes on a life of its own and effects popular culture, and menswear in Annie Hall and Manhattan did just that for women while additionally revealing certain characteristics of the characters within the film. 

The Charles is also playing Annie Hall on Thursday the 24th at 9PM!

Photo from miss vichan (flickr Creative Commons)